gertrude

he is a king.

he is a good king, in fact. kind. benevolent. magnanimous.

you stand by his side day after day; the seasons pass; the years pass; your hair grows grey and your gowns crease.

you give birth to a boy who is every bit his father’s son and there’s a sense that this is just hamartia isn’t it? this is bait, isn’t it?

you stand by the throne, six feet apart, and he does not kiss you. (his son calls your room a whorehouse.)

denmark is a lonely place for a queen.

you whisper poison in his ear when he falls asleep.

he awakes the next morning without fail.

for you are a wordless, powerless woman; your tongue lies dull and unused behind your lips; your teeth are a carapace; a prison.

come, listen to the poets, they will tell you how this goes.

a woman is never clever, only cunning.

1. the poets say you seduce his brother.

the poets are liars with mouths full of soot.

your king is a brute, empty words and sword at his hip.

claudius is weak, but this makes him useful. he is kind, but he cannot help longing for everything his brother has; everything he could never have.

you have snakes coiling around your veins when you clasp his hands; your tongue is forked and he is stone for you, and ambition blooms unsuppressed in the whites of his eyes.

you suppose you’ve given him a touch of your downfall smeared across his lips, but you don’t care.

this man will fall with the rest of them.

2. the poets know how this ends, and do you.

but you sip your wine in the gardens and wait for the moment when you can say to his corpse, “you should have loved me.”

“you should have adored me.”

and drip

drip

drip

the poison p o u r e d into an ear that would not listen, wrapping its tendrils around a mind that did not care to hear your lips move, however seldom.

you do not say goodbye.

his blood lives on.

but he is king now.

claudius pays you no mind.

he says he will marry you

and you are alone again.

denmark is a lonely place for a queen.

you sip your wine and invite your son to the wedding.

the hot wax burns your thumb and you are silent.